


Hold him up

by copperplate



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Leftover emotional baggage, M/M, Post-TRC, Some Fluff, Some angst, mentions of previous abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperplate/pseuds/copperplate
Summary: **NEW CHAPTER: Gansey will always try to hide the cracks in his armor. He never would have suspected the ones who would see them.Adam will always carry his abuse inside him. Ronan learns how to give Adam what he needs on the bad days.Ronan will always carry his nightmares inside him. Adam learns how to help Ronan sleep without fear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because the abuse Adam suffered is usually something victims carry with them for the rest of their lives, and I think that needs to be addressed to some extent.  
> I wrote this because at the end of the day Ronan is a sensitive soul despite his sharp exterior, and the horrors he has witnessed would prevent anyone from wanting to sleep.  
> I wrote this because I think these two young men would do anything to help the other heal.  
> Unbeta'd, errors are my own.

Some days were good days.

Some days Adam would stop and consider his life and think, "I am happy."

Even being away at college felt like a blessing when he got a quirky postcard from Blue, a facetime request from Gansey, and a surprise visit from Ronan.

Some days were great days when he got an A on a paper, when he made $50 in tips in one shift, when Ronan would slip a hand down his pants with his most bratty smile.

Some days Adam would forget entirely he was trailer trash. He would feel like he belonged on his prestigious campus and that his future held wonders untold. Adam would splurge and buy a cappuccino instead of a filter coffee and not feel guilty about. Ronan would actually reply to one of his texts. His roommate would be away all afternoon allowing Adam to study in peace.

Adam knew these small delights were insignificant to most, but Adam savoured what he could get.

Because not all days were good days.

The bad ones came about insidiously. It would start with a sensation similar to that of a cool snake crawling across Adam's skin, leading to a sudden increase in his heart rate. His fingers would not keep still. His deaf ear would tingle and then feel numb. The world would be too overwhelming.

Sometimes, when he was lucky, he would at least be alone when these dark moods hit. He could collapse in on himself as the cold tendrils of fear would wind their way around is spine. Alone, he wouldn't need to be embarrassed each time a sudden sound would make him flinch, or have to explain himself when he felt the need to cover every inch of exposed skin.

Often, he wasn't alone. He was too busy to be alone. Between college classes, working at the cafe, taking the occasional garage shift, people were always close by, but never the ones who counted, never the ones he needed.

He didn't want to call it a panic attack. Because he didn't panic. He didn't run and hide or have a breakdown. Instead he just felt like stone. His body would go on autopilot while his mind remembered. In his deaf ear, he could hear a drunk and angry Robert Parrish crash through the double-wide's door, screeching, "Boy! Where are you?" and just know pain was coming and there was nothing he could do about it.

Adam was a smart young man. His mind had always been his greatest asset. He used it to succeed and to survive. During the bad days, he used his mind to reason out what was happening to him. Rationally, Adam understood a lifetime of abuse could not simply be compartmentalized and forgotten. Rationally, Adam understood that post-traumatic stress disorder would be completely understandable for someone who had been beaten by their own father time and time again, and neglected and ignored by their mother. Adam understood biology and how his body was responding to stress and fear. Understanding what was happening to him did not mean he could control it. He could smooth his features, and take slow breaths, and set his body to autopilot because that essay still needed to be written and he still needed to get groceries to eat. But Adam could not stop _feeling_ scared and angry and absolutely disgusted at the idea of being touched by anyone. The worst case scenario was when these moods happened when he was with Ronan.

Of course Ronan knew. Adam both loved and hated how Ronan had become able to read his smallest expressions and gestures like a book. Adam did not like to be vulnerable in front of others, especially after feeling vulnerable his whole life. He especially did not want to be vulnerable with Ronan, who had already done enough to protect him. The only way Adam could be in a relationship with anyone is if it was a relationship of equals. Adam had to accept that Ronan was magic, and a dreamer, and obnoxiously handsome and wealthy. Those attributes in and of themselves would give anyone more than enough insecurities. But to also have the memory of Ronan attacking Robert Parrish to save Adam, of Ronan being shoved into a police car to save Adam, of Ronan running into a court room alongside Gansey to save Adam, of Ronan letting Adam literally strangle the life out of him to save Adam, it was too much.

Adam hated it when Ronan saw him curl in on himself. He hated Ronan having to  deal with rejection when Adam couldn't bear to be touched (because every touch felt like being struck with a fist). He hated the pity in Ronan's eyes and he hated himself for being jealous that Ronan had loved his father and his mother and had known love from them in return.

Adam tried his best to hide these dark thoughts. But Ronan knew Adam. Adam could tell himself he was unknowable over and over again, but it was no longer the truth. He was known. And on the bad days he wished he wasn't.

Ronan, for his part, had learned how to deal with Adam on his bad days. At first, he was hurt and angry and wanted to punch a hole in the drywall. But they were new back then. The idea of Adam and Ronan _together_ was still so new. Ronan was still learning how to be with Adam Parrish. Being with Adam Parrish required communication. Adam would not put up with Ronan's temper. Adam would not engage with a Ronan who only knew how to express himself with destruction (whether self directed or otherwise). Ronan learned that Adam would just quietly walk away when Ronan became a creature of chaotic rage, because Ronan didn't "talk" through his feelings (and likely never would).

The first time a "bad day" happened in front of Ronan, he was terrified and confused. Adam usually came over to the Barns on weekends. It was still senior year and Ronan had dropped out of Aglionby, which meant he had less time to spend with Adam and Gansey (and Henry, but there was less love lost there). Weekends were sacred. Weekends were races in the fields with Opal and Chainsaw, hours spent coming up with new ways to wake the sleeping animals, help with the small repairs around the house that required two people, and of course the touches and the kisses and the whispered truths of what they were to each other.

Adam arrived late that Friday night. That should have tipped Ronan off. Adam did not do "late." Adam was always on time, nay, early, because Adam fucking Parrish needed to make a good impression on everyone. But Adam was late as he stepped out of the Hondayota with a haunted look to his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, his voice flat, as Ronan jogged down the steps of the front porch to greet him. Ronan was about to reply with something snarky and involving a few dropped f-bombs when he noticed that something was off. Adam's face was still the same as it always was, but the expression was wrong. It was too neutral. Too blank.

Instead, Ronan took Adam's bag out of the trunk and led him into the house.

The second thing that tipped Ronan off was that Adam usually reached for him when they were reunited on their weekends together. Neither boy was prone to public displays of affection, but ever since the first kiss on Ronan's birthday, they sought each other's touch when in private. Adam liked to run his hands through the fuzz of Ronan's shaved head. Ronan liked to cup Adam's jaw and tilt his chin just right. Adam was usually as hungry for Ronan as Ronan had been for Adam after a year of pining. That night, Adam didn't reach for Ronan. Adam didn't press his body from shoulder to thigh against Ronan as they sat side by side on the couch. Adam didn't pull Ronan down for a kiss. And when Ronan reached for Adam's hands, yearning to press his lips to those fine, long fingers, Adam pulled away so fast Ronan was certain his touch had burned.

Ronan froze, unsure what to do. Adam was tense like a rabbit about to sprint away from a predator. He feared even the smallest movement might shatter Adam to pieces.

"I'm sorry," Adam said for the second time that night, his eyes looking down at his shoelaces. "I can't."

"The fuck is going on, Parrish?" Ronan growled more than asked. Fear and doubt and inadequacy battled for space in Ronan's head as Adam slouched on the couch, his face still blank.

Slowly, Adam turned to look at Ronan. Despite the apathy in the relaxed curve of Adam's lips, the straightness of his brow, Adam's eyes told a different story. They were shiny and wide and almost pleading. They looked scared and unsure and desperate. Ronan sucked in a sharp breath and had to stop his hand from reaching out to Adam.

"Can we just sit here and watch a movie?" Adam pleaded. The subtext was clear: _"I want to be here, but I don't want you to touch me."_

Ronan hesitated. He was angry that Adam was hiding something. He was angry something was tearing up Adam from the inside out and he was powerless to stop it. But he was happy that instead of locking himself up in the shithole above St. Agnes to deal with this on his own, Adam was still there. Adam had chosen to come to the Barns rather than be alone. Adam had chosen to sit next to Ronan while he was being eaten by his demons, even if he had to spurn Ronan's affections. A part of Ronan wanted to shake Adam, to scream at Adam to talk, to enfold Adam in his arms to help him heal, but instead he kept his hands to himself and said, "Okay."

That night Adam slept in Matthew's room instead of in Ronan's bed. For the third time, Adam had said "I'm sorry" without further explanation and Ronan had wanted to hit something, but Adam had at least chosen to stay. When Ronan had brought a towel for Adam to Matthew's room, Adam had given him a small smile, the first bit of warmth he'd offered all night, and whispered, "Thank you" with surprisingly more earnest gratitude than a towel warranted. That was because Adam was not thanking Ronan for the towel. Adam was thanking Ronan for the space.

Ronan shrugged and mumbled good night before crawling into his own bed disappointed and alone.

The next morning, Ronan woke up to a comfortable weight on his chest. As he lifted his heavy lids and looked down, he saw dusty brown hair and two deep blue eyes, wondrously deep like the sea, gazing up at him. Adam's hearing ear was pressed to Ronan's chest, just above his heart, his arm holding onto Ronan's waist.

"Morning," Adam whispered, those hyper intelligent blue orbs drinking in Ronan's face.

Ronan felt a bit disoriented, but reached a hand down to run his fingers through the soft strands of Adam's hair. Adam closed his eyes to the touch, savouring it with a satisfied sigh.

"I couldn't do this yesterday," Adam said as he kept his eyes closed. "I wanted to, but I couldn't." Ronan still didn't fully understand _why_ , but grunted an acknowledgement at the peaceful look on Adam's face.

Adam lifted his head from Ronan's chest and climbed up his body until he was leaning over Ronan, eye to eye.

He slowly leaned in, giving Ronan ample time to refuse his advances if he so desired. In no universe would Ronan Lynch every refuse an advance from Adam Parrish.

Their lips met, gentle and slow. Ronan let Adam set the pace, and kept himself as still as possible, feeling as if Adam could still be startled away. Adam hummed into Ronan's lips, savouring them for another second before pulling back. It was a small kiss, chaste compared to what they normally would get up to in the confines of Ronan's bedroom, but there was meaning in it. Adam's kiss said, _"I still want you, but right now this is all I can give."_

Ronan's kiss said, _"Whatever you need, I am here. I will always be here."_

***

Not all nights were good nights.

When Ronan slept alone, his body and belongings were the only collateral of his nightmares. He could live with scars. He could replace damaged furniture.

That being said, he had felt guilty when Noah had found him that terrible night. He had felt worse when Gansey had looked at him with so much disappointment, thinking Ronan had tried to kill himself. At the time, he wasn't ready yet to tell his friends his secret. He had to bear their judgement instead. It had affected Gansey the worse, of course. Noble, protective Gansey, who made it his own personally mission to "save" Ronan Lynch from his own despair. It was almost funny in its futility: for how can you save someone who could literally be torn to shreds by their own nightmares? Unfortunately, Richard Campbell Gansey III did not know the meaning of a lost cause.

When the big secret came out, it was such a relief. Sometimes Ronan himself didn't know which secret he meant by that: the fact he could make dreams reality, or his _want_ for Adam.

Relief was many fold. Relief was stealing glances at Adam, and Adam's eyes catching Ronan and returning a gaze part curious and part dangerous, but never condemning. Relief was that fateful night in his bedroom, unable to hold himself back a moment longer and kissing Adam, and Adam kissing him back. Relief was acceptance from all his friends when he took Adam's hand in his for the first time in front of them.

That relief was a double edged sword. Because having Adam meant danger for Adam. Even before their kiss, Ronan made excuses to spend time with Adam. He spent nights at St. Agnes, sleeping on the floor, needing to be close. Adam spent nights at the Barn, working tirelessly on homework or chores or just cleaning side by side with Ronan. Ronan's nightmares had subsided a bit after he had accepted himself; after he had seen what self-hatred had done to Kavinsky.

Yet tragically, the nightmares had come back in full force after the third sleeper took his mother, took his forest, almost took Adam, almost unmade him. The nightmares had consumed him completely when Gansey had died and Ronan knelt broken next to his regal corpse.

Cabeswater had brought Gansey back, inexplicably, miraculously, phenomenally. But burned behind Ronan's eyelids for the rest of his life were a portfolio of horrific images: his mother's body broken and torn to shreds, Adam's beautiful hands wrapped around his throat, Matthew, his dream brother, a sleeping doll without Ronan's magic to keep him awake, and Gansey, his other brother and lifeline, staring at the sky with dead, empty eyes.

The nightmares were different this time around. He was no longer being stalked by night horrors. He was being swallowed by darkness. The darkness sometimes took Adam's shape and laughed cruelly while he killed Ronan with knife or gun or bare hands, and Ronan always let him. The darkness was sometimes Ronan's mirror image, a twisted self portrait that burned everything it touched. The worse, though, was when the darkness took no shape. When he closed his eyes, there would just be a heavy feeling of dread. The darkness would be an expectation of a terror Ronan had yet to conceive, something hungry and evil that he would take with him to the waking world and turn all he loved to ashes.

Loved like Adam.

Brave, beautiful, Adam, who let Ronan stare at him with hungry eyes, and taste him with hungry lips. Adam, a boy who should not be able to trust or love, but allows himself to try with Ronan.

When the bad nights started, Ronan did not want to sleep. He could feel adrenaline electrify him, and he wanted to drink or race cars or break windows (or noses), but instead he held Adam closer and inhaled the scent of his cheap shampoo and the musk of wet leaves that was quintessential Adam Parrish.

Adam, always desperate for every second of sleep he afforded himself, would exhale contently and gently snore into Ronan's skin. Ronan would pray to stay awake: both to bask in this  stolen moment with the boy who had stolen his heart, but also because he was afraid that his dreams would be pitiless. To have Adam share his bed was to put Adam in danger. Ronan felt selfish he even allowed it to happen. Adam, of course, did not see it that way.

"I don't need your protection," Adam had said once and only once, when Ronan had felt the darkness swimming in his head and told Adam he'd be safer at St. Agnes. "You'd let me kill you before you'd..." Adam couldn't finish the sentence. Ronan was shocked. Adam was suddenly very angry.

"Adam."

"You would, though," Adam accused. "You have."

Adam wasn't wrong.

"Sometimes I can't control what I bring back," was the only explanation Ronan could provide.

"You won't bring back anything that can hurt me," Adam argued, staring challengingly into Ronan's eyes. The certainty in Adam's voice gave Ronan goose bumps. The trust in Adam's eyes made Ronan fall in love with Adam all over again.

Ronan decided then and there that he would never sleep again if it meant keeping Adam close. Ronan was also aware that such a desire was not physically possible. He couldn't stay awake forever. He could drink his dreams into oblivion, but Adam had always disapproved of Ronan getting black-out drunk. Ronan was trying to be a better version of himself, but when the darkness called, Ronan felt helpless.

The darkness had been haunting Ronan for days, allowing him to steal only snippets of sleep an hour at a time while he attempted to rebuild animal pens and tutor Opal in English.

Adam watched the impending breakdown with stoic patience as he finished his calculus homework from the Barn's living room while Ronan was ploughing fields in preparation for spring planting.

Ronan came into the kitchen from the back porch, tracking muddy footprints into the house, sweat glinting off his exposed shoulders, and poured himself a glass of water. With a raised brow from the living room, Adam watched Ronan drink. The slouch in Ronan's posture and the bruising under his eyes were evidence plenty for his mental state, but what made Adam rise from the couch was the way Ronan stared off silently into space, the glass of water looking like it would slip from his fingers any second.

"Ronan," Adam said. Ronan's eyes slowly found their way to the calm voice that had spoken his name, locking onto Adam's pink lips. "Jesus, come here."

Ronan placed his glass on the counter and, as if on a tether, floated into Adam's waiting, open arms. He was taller than Adam, but only slightly, and he used his height to collapse on Adam from above, letting his full weight fall on the slighter boy and causing them both to tumble onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Ronan could feel the rumble of Adam laughing beneath.

"Asshole," Adam gasped, pushing Ronan off partially so he could breathe.

Ronan, sweaty and covered with flecks of loose earth, snuggled into Adam's side, his lids drooping helplessly. Every inch of his body craved sleep. It fouled his mood and made him slow.

"You need to sleep," Adam breathed into the top of Ronan's head. Ronan shook his head into Adam's neck. "You can barely stand."

In response, Ronan nipped playfully at Adam's jugular, causing Adam to gasp in surprise.

"Why won't you sleep?" Adam asked.

 _Because I will dream you as my killer,_ Ronan thought bitterly. _Because I will dream monsters with many mouths filled with many fangs that will want to eat Matthew's skin. Because I will dream car crashes of hideous orange Camaros with best friends crushed behind the wheel. Because I will see mom and dad rotted and decomposed, climbing out of their graves to blame me for their deaths. Because-_

"Ronan."

Ronan, unable and unwilling to construct his nightmares with words, instead brought his fears to life in his eyes as he gazed up to Adam, a glacier looking into a sea.

"Sleep with me," Adam said. Ronan shook his head. "Yes, Ronan. Come upstairs and sleep."

Adam had to push Ronan's weight off of himself fully, and then drag Ronan to his feet. Ronan tried to protest, but Adam silenced him with his lips. Adam was always clever, but he could also be a ruthless, manipulative bastard when he wanted to. He was not above seducing Ronan into compliance, and used his elegant hands to slip beneath Ronan's black tank and tickle his back.

Ronan shuddered into the touch. Gentle, swift fingers traced from memory the outline of his tattoo, caressing his stiff muscles, while slightly chapped lips kissed him raw.

Then slowly Adam drew his body away, the calloused pads of his fingertips a subtle pressure on Ronan's skin, inviting him to follow.

Ronan felt asleep on his feet as Adam coaxed him slowly to his bedroom, meeting every stumble on the way with deep kisses and tender strokes. Adam pushed Ronan onto his bed and knelt at his feet, long fingers making quick work of the shoelaces on his work boots and tugging them off one at a time. Ronan could barely hold his body upright, but he stared down at Adam transfixed, watching the muscles in his arms and back work underneath his thin cotton t-shirt. Adam looked up suddenly to catch Ronan gawking and a small smile creased the corner of his lips.

"You're staring again," Adam teased as he rose to his feet in one smooth movement, allowing him to be towering over Ronan's sitting form.

"I know," Ronan replied without taking his eyes off Adam. Ronan reached up to pull Adam onto the bed with him, scooting them back to lie their heads on the pillows side by side. Adam dragged his fingers over Ronan's eyelids, forcing them closed lest he wanted to get poked in the eye.

"Sleep," Adam ordered as their arms wrapped around each other possessively. Ronan grunted. But he did fall asleep almost instantly. That day Ronan learned that Adam's unique brand of magic helped keep the darkness at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Chapter 2 is about Gansey and can be read independently from Chapter 1.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gansey will always try to hide the cracks in his armor. He never would have suspected the ones who would see them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I managed to bust out a Gansey chapter. Gansey also needs some love.
> 
> Unbeta'd, errors are my own.

Richard Campbell Gansey III did not like endings. His life story was undeniable proof that the journey is always better than the destination. His quest for Glendower ended with disappointment and tears and the waking of an incomprehensible evil. And his death. He could never forget his second death.

It was hard at first to acknowledge that the Glendower journey concluded with nothing to show but a pile of bones. After everything his friends had suffered, it was almost insulting. However, the more Gansey thought about it, the more he realized how much he had gained: he had found magic, he had released some softness hidden beneath Ronan's sharp edges, he had taught Adam how to trust, and he found a kindred spirit in Henry. And Blue. He had Blue. Beautiful, untameable, Blue. With her homemade clothes, and her eccentric family (and their terrible teas), and her fierce, protective love. Love. That was the word. He had found love. He wasn't sure if a doomed boy was allowed so much love, but somehow he had found these otherworldly people to love, and at times he couldn't care less if he deserved them or not.

Blue and Adam made sure to constantly remind Gansey of all his privilege, and he always made an effort to show his gratitude for the life he had when his friends had so much less. But there were cracks in his armor. Cracks born of insecurities and fears that could still leave him frozen and hyperventilating. Because the truth was Gansey should be dead. Noah had died for him the first time. Cabeswater had died for him the second time. And as much as he was so grateful to be alive, grateful beyond words, his mind would cloud with doubts about whether or not he deserved it.

Death permeated everywhere. There were people younger than him, smarter than him, better than him, who died and were not given a second chance, not to mention a third. Gansey still breathed. Gansey's heart still beat. He knew it had to mean something, to be chosen, to be saved.  Yet he would be eluded as to _why_. _Why him?_

He had devoted his life to finding Glendower, thinking that was the _why_ , the big reason he had lived. But it wasn't. Glendower had been found. The world went on as if nothing had changed.

What was the point of the boy who lived, twice, without a mission? Was it acceptable for him to simply live on normally? Could he just be a normal teenager? Could he just go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, and call it a day? Or would just being ordinary be the equivalent of spitting on the graves of all the people who didn't get a second chance?

Some days Gansey would look to Adam. Adam: the boy who was beaten and neglected and despised by his parents, who had nothing and lived in a trailer park, who worked three jobs and chose books over food on the bad days, who had stayed alive feeding off his ambitions and dreams for a better life. Adam would not be defined by the dirt he came from and had clawed tooth and nail to get everything he deserved. He was the definition of a diamond in the rough. When Gansey thought of people who deserved second chances, he would think of Adam, who had suffered and survived and was made better for it. What did Gansey know of suffering compared to Adam Parrish?

Or Ronan. A boy who knew a loving family and had it torn from him. A boy whose Catholic conscience made him hate himself for years. A boy who could dream anything to life and dreamt nightmares to tear him to shreds and gentle younger brothers to adore. Ronan was the kind of boy who deserved a second chance.

On the sleepless nights, alone in Monmouth (and he was now alone in Monmouth with Noah gone for good and Ronan back at the Barns), he would sit in the centre of miniature Henrietta, his glasses balancing on the tip of his nose, and stare at nothing. On the good nights, he would get a call from Blue and they would talk about nothing and everything. On the bad nights, he would hear buzzing coming from all directions, wrap his arms around his knees, and prayed the crawling sensation on the back of his neck was simply the result of an overactive imagination.

The point was that when Gansey suffered, he suffered in silence. Because his suffering was infinitesimal compared to what his friends had suffered. He had no right to seek comfort or pity. He had no right to desire a set of arms to wrap around him that weren't his own, and a warm voice to whisper in his ear that everything would be okay, that he deserved to live, that he wasn't alone.

Learning how to share his pain was hard. Strangely, the first person to know, to see his cracks, had been Henry Cheng, before they had become friends, before Gansey knew what a prince Henry Cheng really was.

 It wasn't odd to be seen. Gansey had his panic attacks in the most unpredictable of locations and circumstances. However, when they happened, even in public, they usually did not draw attention. The Gansey bloodline were masters of themselves and adept at placing on the appropriate masks. The blankness that would settle on Gansey's face as his body was frozen and his mind would shatter was unremarkable to the casual observer. But people who knew true fear, people who had come face to face with their mortality, they would not be fooled. Gansey would never have guessed Henry Cheng was one of these people until he had placed that cup of water into his hand and gave him a smile that was better than a lifejacket.

Having Henry know, a boy who was almost a mirror to himself in almost all ways, was a saving grace beyond words. In a strange way, Henry understood Gansey better than anyone, even Ronan who had known him longer. Having a kindred spirit was hard to describe, and Gansey felt awful for all the times he had disregarded Henry. Had he only known...

That was the past. The past should be shed. To carry the past around would break Gansey completely. He always had to look forward. Life over death.

The second person who had seen Gansey's cracks was even more surprising than Henry. Because it had been Declan Lynch.

There came a time during the holiday break in the December immediately following the conclusion of the Glendower saga that Gansey had to face another awful truth: Ronan was not returning to Aglionby and there was nothing Gansey could do about it.

He had tried. Of course he had tried. He had sacrificed Monmouth for Ronan and Gansey could not bear the thought of anything beloved being sacrificed for nothing. In his desperation, he had even begged Adam to help him convince Ronan to stay. He was certain Adam Parrish, who favoured academics and his straight As over everything else, would understand the importance of Ronan finishing high school. Gansey was surprised when Adam had shaken his head at Gansey sadly.

"Ronan needs to make his own choices," he had said. Gansey couldn't believe it. It felt almost like a slap in the face, a betrayal, to have Adam side with Ronan on this one.

"He is going to regret it, you know he will!" Gansey argued. Adam shrugged.

"If he regrets it, that is also his problem."

"But-" Adam had covered Gansey's mouth, his eyes flashing coldly in warning.

"Let it go, Gansey. You do not need to coddle him. He knows what he is doing."

When Gansey had called Blue at 2 am to vent, he was again surprised to hear Blue suck air in through her teeth before she said, "Stop acting like such a mother hen. Who cares if Ronan wants to drop out?"

That hurt a surprising amount. It was as if his friends were telling him he was wrong to care so much, wrong to try to make things right. What else could he offer them but his good intentions?

He had another attack that night. He felt like dying. He felt worthless and confused. There was buzzing thrumming in his head, and crawling legs on his skin, and bile in his throat, and cold sweat on his back, and darkness pressing in, and he didn't know what to do to help anyone, not to mention himself.

At 6am that morning, someone was knocking on Monmouth's front door.

Ronan was supposed to be at the Barns with his family and Adam. Blue was at 300 Fox way. Henry was spending the break in Vancouver. Noah was...gone. Gansey was going to D.C. in the afternoon to meet his family. No one was expected. No one should be visiting.

It took more effort than it should have to lift himself off the floor. His bones creaked in protest. He had been lying on his side with his knees tucked up against his chest for almost 4 hours straight. The sun was not even fully up and the only light was coming from Gansey's desk lamp that he had never shut off. He rubbed a hand over his face as the knocking grew more insistent. Gansey sighed. He picked his glasses off the floor and put them on as he went to answer the door.

"Christ, you look like shit," said Declan Lynch, already dressed in a suit appropriate for church or an interview, hair perfectly coiffed, teeth perfectly white.

"Declan?" Gansey mumbled, rubbing at the bruises under his eyes beneath his glasses.

"You okay, man?" Declan asked. "I brought coffee."

Gansey had a large paper cup shoved in front of his face as Declan pushed his way around Gansey to get inside, despite not having received an official invitation to enter.

Bewildered, Gansey followed Declan, feeling the warmth from the coffee cup seep into his fingers. He hadn't realized how cold he had been in his threadbare pajamas, but that would be expected after lying on the poorly insulated factory floor for so long.

Declan spun in a circle, absorbing the quirkiness of Monmouth with an amused smile. Declan had seen the inside of Monmouth several times, and every time he always looked a bit charmed by it. Or entertained that someone like Gansey, who could afford a luxury apartment, chose a run down, disused factory to call home. Perhaps it was part of the reason why he had agreed to let Ronan live here.

Gansey took a sip of the coffee. It was good, a real latte and not the cheap stuff. As expected from Declan Lynch.

"What are you doing here, Declan?" Gansey asked. He tried to make his voice polite, but he had little energy for pretenses that morning.

"I wanted to chat," Declan said, unbuttoning his jacket and collapsing onto the couch. "You don't mind sparing a few minutes for an old friend?"

"I wasn't aware we were old friends," Gansey said, pulling out his desk chair and swivelling it around to face Declan.

"Then the brother of your old friend. Semantics," Declan waved his hand in the air dismissively. Declan tilted his head to the side, his gaze roaming Gansey's face. Gansey had a sudden pang of sympathy for Ronan now that he was on the receiving end of that judging stare.

"Are you hungover?" Declan asked carefully. Gansey barked out a laugh.

"No, just sleep deprived."

"When my brother is sleep deprived, he is usually also hungover," Declan explained, "so I apologize for the assumption."

"He hasn't had a bad night in a while," Gansey responded.

"And how would you know?" Declan countered back. "He barely stays here anymore. I bet if you rented out his room he wouldn't notice."

Again, a knife lodged itself in Gansey's gut. The truth was a powerful weapon. Declan, master of lies, seemed to have learned to harness truth just as effectively.

Ronan hadn't officially moved out. He spent maybe one night a week at Monmouth when it was convenient. If Ronan did drop out of Aglionby, he'd have no reason to live in Henrietta and save himself the commute from Singer's Falls. It was inevitable that he would be less and less present in Gansey's life.

Gansey closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel Declan's gaze still on him and felt terribly exposed. He wanted Declan to leave. He was not in the mood to put up with the oldest Lynch's bullshit.

"Gansey."

His eyes shot open. There was uncharacteristic warmth in the way Declan had just said his name. Or was it concern? Was he in such shambles that he had earned pity from Declan Lynch of all people? Could this day get any worse?

"Look, Gansey," Declan said with a sigh. "Ronan is a force of nature. You and I both know we can't stop Ronan from doing what he wants, just like we can't stop a hurricane."

"I made you a promise," Gansey said. "I told you I'd take care of him."

"And you did."

Gansey raised a skeptical brow.

"My brother almost died," Declan said, his voice going down and octave to emphasize the point. "You sacrificed yourself to save him."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well that's what I meant," Declan replied. "You remember how self destructive he was. I was always less worried about him graduating and more about him surviving the year. You've seen the scars. You've met his nightmares."

Gansey swallowed. It was strange to talk about Ronan's living dreams with his brother. But it had come to light that Declan had always known about Ronan and Niall Lynch's strange talents and had always been the keeper of their secret, seller of their dream things, and manager of their lives.

"It wasn't just me that has helped him."

"Oh yes, you must mean Parrish," Declan said with a slight sneer. Gansey's back straightened. He prepared himself for the worst of the homophobic vitriol Declan could spew.

"Calm down, Dick," Declan said, noticing Gansey's defensive posture. "I don't disapprove, per se." Declan paused for a second, choosing his words carefully as he straitened his cuffs. "It's just...it's _Ronan._ "

"Parrish is good for him," Gansey argued.

"Perhaps. We'll see."

Gansey gave Declan a dark look, which Declan ignored.

"Is that why you are here?" Gansey asked with more acid in his voice than he was prone to using. "To get the gossip on your brother's romantic life?"

Declan laughed. "Ronan and romance in the same sentence will give me an aneurysm, so let's not say that again. Besides, I get to spend two more days with Parrish and Ronan at the Barns. I'm sure I'll have more gossip than you by the end of it."

Gansey folded his arms in front of his chest and stared down Declan patiently, waiting for him to get to the point. Declan sighed dramatically.

"Gansey, I'm here to release you from our deal."

Gansey blinked twice in silence.

"I know Ronan intends to drop out. And I won't stop him. I _can't_ stop him. And neither can you. So I want you to let it go. He can live at the Barns, fix the place up a bit. Be a... _farmer_." There was so much bitterness in Declan's voice at that last word that Gansey knew Declan's thoughts on the matter weren't that different than his own. "I much rather you make sure people aren't trying to kidnap or kill him than make sure he gets his diploma. If he won't let me stay close to help, then all I can do is help from afar. But you, he trusts you. And you have always been sensible."

Sensible. That was Blue's word.

"You don't need to ask me to look out for Ronan," Gansey replied sternly. "I will always look out for Ronan. He's like a brother to me too, you know."

"I know."

Gansey believed him. There was sincerity in Declan's eyes, which was unusual. It took a special breed of person to survive being a brother to Ronan Lynch. Declan and Gansey, two young men who outwardly may have seemed to be made from the same mold, but were inwardly worlds apart, had that one link in common.

"Look," Declan continued with a sigh, "Ronan won't share the whole story, but I got the gist of it. You all went through something messed up. All I had to see was black goo pour out of Matthew's eyes and mouth, and that was more than enough to traumatize me for life. I can't imagine what was happening here. Or what happened to _you_." Declan paused for dramatic effect. "I know what it is to be out of my depths, Dick. You... you look out of your depths."

Gansey buried his face in his hands. There was no point lying to a liar.

"I don't know what to do anymore," Gansey groaned. "I don't know how to protect Ronan. I don't know what's best for anyone."

"Then maybe, just for a change, you might want to do what's best for you," Declan suggested.

Gansey peered at Declan between his fingers. "And what would be best for me?"

Declan raised his hands in surrender. "I can't answer that for you. What _does_ Richard Campbell Gansey the Third want?"

_What do I want?_

Gansey wanted a mission, something to accomplish, something to strive towards that was bigger than university acceptance letters and internships and helping his mother become a Congresswoman. He wanted to kiss Blue under the sun, under the moon, at the end of her shift at Nino's, at the end of the world. He wanted the search for Glendower not to be over. He wanted Noah back. He wanted to stay together with his friends forever and not worry about what comes after graduation. He wanted to feel like he deserved to be alive.

"Wow," Declan spoke into the silence. "You look like I just asked you to tell me the nuclear missile codes."

Gansey groaned again.

"Okay, Dick, I'm going to say this once and only once and don't you dare repeat it to anyone, you understand?"

Gansey hesitated, suspicious, but nodded.

"I'm jealous of you."

Gansey's head shot up, a bewildered expression on his face.

"Yes, you heard right. I am jealous of you. I wish my brother listened to and respected me like he does you. I wish I had your effortless grace and charms, because Lord knows I work tirelessly to put on this facade. I wish my parents were the Ganseys instead of dead, and I wish I had the courage to let all this," he waved his hand up and down the length of this body, "go so I could do something meaningful with my life."

Gansey was speechless.

"I am and always have been trapped," Declan continued. "I wasn't born magical. I wasn't created in a dream. I am the normal, boring, outsider in a family of impossible people and I was assigned the job to keep my family safe. Apparently, I am not really good at it, but I can't stop trying because as much as Ronan drives me crazy, I still care about him and if Ronan dies, Matthew turns into a coma patient, and they are all I have left. So I don't get to go on adventures, I don't get to play treasure hunter on a ley line. I get to make conference calls haggling with killers and smugglers while trying to muzzle my way into the White House. But I do it. I do it for my brothers because they're worth it. You also live and die for your family. In your case, family happens to extend beyond blood relation. And as long as Ronan is your family as much as he is mine, I've got your back."

Gansey felt his throat constrict. The Lynch's did not give heartfelt speeches. The Lynch's did not talk about their own issues unless under duress or torture. Declan had just offered Gansey a truly rare gift, and he would give it the appreciation and consideration it deserved.

"Thank you, Declan," he whispered. "Truly, thank you."

"If you try to hug me, I will punch you," Declan said as he rose to his feet in one smooth motion. Gansey couldn't help but smile. "Enjoy the coffee, Dick. I can see myself out."

Gansey nodded. "Goodbye, _old friend_ ," he added cheekily. Declan shook his head as he made his way to the exit, but there was definitely a smirk on his face too. And it wasn't Declan's trademark fake smile either. It was Ronan's rare real smile. It was Niall's smile.

Gansey never thought he'd see the day that Declan Lynch would make him feel better about himself. Gansey loved how life could still surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you like my take on Declan, who I think is a very misunderstood character. I mean, he's still a douchebag, but he isn't a bad person, right? RIGHT?


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